


The turkey of 1420

by Tethys_resort



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bad Cooking, Bonfires, Cooking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feast, Gen, Humor, Moving On, Party, Thanksgiving Dinner, Turkey - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21586603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tethys_resort/pseuds/Tethys_resort
Summary: An autumn feast in the Shire with everyone invited.  Merry and Pippin have a go at cooking a turkey too.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins & Sam Gamgee, Merry Brandybuck & Pippin Took, Rose Cotton/Sam Gamgee
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	The turkey of 1420

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for: depression, cooking accidents and bonfires. The teen rating is for people being stupid.

One year wasn’t enough to regrow the giant lavender bushes that had grown around the big bay window since Bag End had been built. Despite Sam’s unrelenting effort, and Lady Galandriel’s gift, it wasn’t enough to regrow the huge stately trees that had overhung Bagshot Row and stepped down toward the river. 

The Bilbo’s Party Tree had been replaced by the delicate whippy branches of the Mallorn seedling, planted a dozen paces from the stump of the old oak tree. Only one year old, its golden leaves were bright under the sunshine. Frodo thought it was a lovely thing, maybe the only lovely thing to come out of his strange little trip. 

His hand closed over the white gem hanging on its delicate little chain and he pulled on it, feeling the chain bite into the back of his neck. The tiny twinging friction and the hard angles of the gemstone felt more real than the cold draft from the open window or the shouting.

Frodo frowned. Shouting? Now that he was paying attention, Old Gaffer appeared to be yelling. “Smoking is the traditional way!”

He went to the hall door and opened it to Sam’s response. “Smoking the birds makes their skin all gummy! Oven is better!”

The old gaffer’s voice echoed down the hall as Frodo walked to the kitchen. “Who cares about the skin with a nice wet brine and smoking to make the bird nice and tender? You can even load the smoker with the potatoes and aught else for the dinner! That frees up the oven for pies!”

“And I say a wet brine always crisps up nicely in the oven and is much faster!”

As Frodo stepped into the kitchen, he could hear Rosie giggling. 

Old Gaffer and Sam were standing over a naked turkey ensconced in a bucket on the kitchen table. The aforementioned brine was cooling on the sideboard, ready to dump over the bird. Frodo tiptoed into the room to stand next to Rosie. Her pregnancy was beginning to show in a definite bulge about her middle. Frodo was just pleased that the horrible morning sickness had finally ended, returning her perpetual bright smile and happy glow. 

“The great annual argument over turkey preparation?” he whispered.

Rosie’s smile got wider. “I think it’s as much tradition as the pie and nut tarts.” 

Sam turned at Rosie’s voice. “Mr. Frodo, did you have a nice nap? I was just going to brine this turkey for our harvest feast and then make an afternoon snack.”

“Brine and smoke, that’s the way.” The Old Gaffer had a censuring tone.

Sam’s head whipped back toward his father. “I’ll thank you for it to be brined and oven baked!”

Rosie burst out laughing. Frodo couldn’t help but smile at the infectious sound that drove away some of the cold gray that seemed to fill the world these days. He forced himself to smile wider as he said, “Well, Rosie lass. How do Farmer and Mistress Cotton cook their turkey for the autumn feast?”

Dimples showed as she responded. “Ma and Da dry brine and oven roast their turkey.”

“What, a dry brine? It’d be fit for harness leather after such a treatment!” Old Gaffer sounded mortified.

“Hah! Oven baked it is!” Sam ignored talk of dry brine in favor of the word “oven”. 

Frodo decided to try and make peace. “Why don’t we just do two birds this feast? Merry and Pippin were intending to come for the feast and it isn’t as though leftover turkey is a burden.” He paused. “At least as long as it wasn’t Lobelia’s turkey.”

Rosie and Sam looked puzzled but Gaffer smiled in reminiscence. “That old biddy kept inviting herself to Mr. Baggin’s feast days, seemed to think Mr. Frodo Baggins here was in danger of starving in a bachelor’s house.”

Frodo smiled. “She always brought dishes, ‘to make sure there was something edible in the house’ and then made comments about the texture of the mashed potatoes. Her cooking was mostly okay, but the turkey was terrible! I think she just simply shoved it in the oven for hours without even salt and butter.”

Sam said, “Mr. Frodo, I remember Mr. Bilbo did a wonderful turkey. Was that an Elvish recipe or maybe a Dwarvish one?”

“The one where we buried the turkey? I’m not sure, Uncle Bilbo just said it was the proper way to make a good turkey. It’s been years since we tried that one hasn’t it? It’s a lot of work even with your help, Sam. The pit is still off around in the corner of the garden though, I didn’t have the heart to fill it in.”

Rosie looked puzzled. “Bury a turkey?”

Sam said, “It was a method of cooking Mr. Bilbo brought back from foreign parts I reckon. You took a turkey or roast or something and wrapped it up and buried it for cooking. I helped dig the hole a few times, but Mr. Frodo is right: it made smoking the turkey seem easy.”

Gaffer said, “It was foreign cooking, right enough. But mighty tasty. Mr. Baggins was a right hand at making a good feast and kind enough to invite the whole of Bagshot Row.”

Frodo thought about his Uncle and himself covered in dirt and laughing as they prepped the cooking pit. Sam should learn how it’s done. “Sam? Can we do our turkey that way this year?” 

***

Merry and Pippin showed up the next day and helped Sam and Frodo dig out the old cooking pit hidden in the corner of the back garden. Frodo quickly tired and went to lie down again but Merry and Pippin were cheerful and industrious. They had all stopped for a bit of a break (complete with snack and ale) when Pippin said, “You know, another turkey and a few more side dishes and we could invite the whole of the Hill.”

Merry stared into his ale for a moment more, then said more quietly, “How is Frodo, really? Is he actually getting any better?”

Sam pulled himself up to defend his care of Frodo. “Sometimes he seems his old self. And I want to say he’s getting better….” Sam sighed. “But I just can’t get what that Saruman said out my head, about health and long life. This month past he was sick again.” His face crumpled slightly. “And sometimes Mr. Frodo just sits there and holds that gem. He’s in pain and I can’t fix it. I wish Gandalf were here.”

“It might just take time.” Pippin sounded hopeful. “The Shire is getting better. There’s a King again with Strider down in Gondor. We won.”

“Let’s invite Farmer and Mistress Cotton and everyone else who can come.” Merry’s smile was carefree but his eyes were grim. “I think Frodo should have a proper big autumn feast with everyone.” 

The trio sat in silence before Sam stood up and picked up his shovel. “Come on, then. Just a little more and we can start loading it with wood for tomorrow.”

Pippin said, “Merry, after this lets go get some stuff. I think we should make a turkey too.”

***

As Farmer and Mistress Cotton rode up in their farm cart with Nibs and a selection of Hobbits (including Mayor Whitefoot) from the Hobbiton end of the Hill, Frodo wondered how his autumn feast had suddenly turned into a potluck with seemingly the entire Shire invited. 

Tables were being set up around the Mallorn seedling (with a protective set of tables around the tree itself) and the stump of the Party Tree and younglings running about laughing as food and cutlery were brought out for the feast. 

After touring the burgeoning party preparations out in the Field, Frodo went back up the Hill to Bag End for a little snack. Sam always worried about him if he wasn’t eating. He sat down in a quiet corner and nibbled on a scone with jam, watching Rosie pull pies and casseroles out of the oven. She danced about the kitchen, humming as she worked. She paused several times to shoo Merry and Pippin from the finished dishes as they kept trotting through with equipment and supplies for the party. 

It was only a few hours until the feast was due to start and the turkey Merry and Pippin had purchased from the Green Dragon still sat de-feathered but completely raw in a pan in the kitchen. 

Finally Frodo asked. “Merry, Pippin? How were you going to cook your turkey? I think Rosie’s done with the oven if you need it.”

Pippin smiled and said, “We were talking about it and we wanted to try something new!”

Merry continued, “Do you remember when Legolas took us to see those gardens down in the warehouse district on the First Ring?” At Frodo’s nod he continued. “We went down another time and one of the food stalls along the Market was cooking food this way. It was really tasty and it only took a short while to cook whole geese and ducks. We’re going to try it out on our turkey.”

“We even got Gaffer to help us with some of the planning!”

Frodo’s concerns for the turkey only grew when Pippin plopped the turkey unceremoniously into a bucket and headed out the front door. He decided to follow and see what this “cooking method from Minas Tirith” entailed. 

Concern mixed with amusement when down at the Party Field, Pippin and Merry put on their mail shirts and helmets before Pippin knelt to start a bonfire already laid out in an empty section of the meadow. Fire started, the pair began to lash together sections of lumber. 

Frodo sat down nearby on a convenient log and settled in to watch Merry and Pippin at work and the potluck setting up across the field. Sam is always after him to rest more, and this seems like an ideal way to do it. As he sat he unconsciously fingered the white gem hanging about his neck. 

By the time the coals were ready, Merry and Pippin had built an elaborate scaffold with what Frodo recognized as the Gaffer’s well pulley in the middle. Pippin had filled a large canning pot with oil and was now positioning it on the coals. It slowly began to heat and Frodo said, “Do you have a way to put this fire out if it gets out of hand?”

Pippin laughed and gestured at the buckets stationed in a ring well back from the bonfire. “We were going to fill buckets with water just in case, but Gaffer told us to fill them with sand from the Pit.”

Frodo watched in fascination as Merry carefully tied the turkey’s legs together and then tied the bound bird to a rope laced through the pulley. The oil was getting quite hot but Frodo wasn’t certain what they had in mind to do. Surely not dunk the whole bird into hot oil? 

“Merry? Pippin? Did you ask the Men running this food stall how this was done?”

Pippin sounded unconcerned. “Yes, and they were happy to give us a list of instructions.” 

They waited as the oil got hotter until it was visibly swirling in the pot. Pippin poked it with a long piece of grass plucked from the verge, there was a sizzle. “It’s ready!”

Merry pulled the rope until the turkey was suspended high in the scaffold and Pippin pushed the scaffolding into place over the fire. A crowd had gathered to watch the operation and Merry called, “Now, the next step is to lower the turkey into the oil for frying. This should yield a nice juicy turkey in only an hour, just in time to be carved for the feast!”

With that, he lowered the turkey into the pot. The watching Hobbits gasped. It clunked to the bottom of the pot unceremoniously. The thud of the turkey hitting the bottom of the pot was drowned out by the massive hiss and crackle of the oil as it hit the wet skin of the bird. Merry hauled on the rope, trying to raise the heavy bird so that it wasn’t actually touching the bottom.

Oil gushed over the sides of the pot and onto the bonfire.

The bonfire rushed up with a roar and the watching Hobbits scattered backward with shrieks and gasps. As the crowd watched, the fire caught on the scaffolding and quickly ate through the rope on which the turkey hung. With a hollow boom, the turkey crashed to the bottom of the pot one more time and then the whole lot tipped slowly over to land with a clang on its side. 

Flaming oil washed out of the bonfire and started to spread to the lawn. Merry was still tangled in rope as he tried to use it to pull the scaffolding away from the flames but Pippin ran to a bucket of sand and poured it on the spots where the fire was getting loose. Merry finally gave up on the rope and ran to help. 

As the lashing burnt, the scaffolding collapsed onto the bonfire in a shower of sparks. Merry and Pippin backed away from their position next to the fire and sat down in the grass next to Frodo. They smelled of burnt hair, and their chain mail was scorched, but they seemed unharmed. 

As they sat in a row, Sam ran up. “What happened?”

There was silence. And then Pippin said, “I don’t think we asked enough questions.”

Merry said, “It’s a good thing there are other turkeys.”

Sam stared at the fire, the blackening turkey just visible in the flames. “That was your turkey? What were you thinking?” 

More awkward silence followed as people from all over the Hill noticed the bonfire and took it for a signal for the start of the potluck. Finally Frodo said, “You have to admit, you won’t have to worry about undercooked poultry on that one.” He looked around, the gathered Hobbits were wide eyed and speechless. 

Merry turned to look at the crowd as well before leaping to his feet again and bowing. He yelled, “Thank you for joining us for this wonderful autumn afternoon! And thank you for witnessing our great turkey experiment. If the Mayor will say a few words, we can start the party!”

Mayor Whitefoot blinked at the sudden introduction and tearing his eyes away from the bonfire began a well-rehearsed speech.

Merry sat down next to Pippin again and they watched Frodo smile, seemingly entirely HERE for the present. He leaned over to whisper, “No matter what, we can at least have a party. After all, it’s the memories that are important in the end.”


End file.
